


if it's alive, it will do anything

by burnthesocks



Series: old man and twink robot [10]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Becomes Deviant Sooner, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is In Denial About Deviancy, Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kissing, M/M, Massage, Russian Roulette Chapter (Detroit: Become Human), Sleepy Cuddles, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, connor taking care of hank because hank deserves it, fuck eden club its gay time, little spoon hank fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26131810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnthesocks/pseuds/burnthesocks
Summary: Connor finds Hank passed out on the floor and takes care of him.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: old man and twink robot [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858183
Comments: 12
Kudos: 96





	if it's alive, it will do anything

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a lyric from the song "if it's alive, it will" by angel olsen. a personal favorite of mine + a song i definitely associate with these two, so give it a listen while you read if you want & enjoy!

Connor had arrived at the Lieutenant's house to find the man unconscious on the ground. So, naturally, he hurtled himself through a window without a second thought as an attempt to save the man, despite it costing CyberLife.

Even knowing Hank could take care of himself, Connor felt something akin to nausea– if androids could even feel anything of the sorts– when he saw Hank collapsed on the ground. He landed on the kitchen tile with a concerning thump, though he felt no pain even as he scurried away from the dog that greeted him. He backed away on all fours and held up his hands defensively.

“Easy… Sumo,” Connor said, remembering the dog’s name that Hank had told him at the station. “I’m your friend, see? I know your name, I’m here to save your owner.”

Connor found his mouth upturned in a smile, which was entirely foreign to him, so he forced it down into something more neutral even as the dog sniffed him. Sumo huffed and walked away, going instead to eat his food and Connor felt relief wash over him. He stood up, immediately going over to check on Hank. Something in him knew that even if it wasn’t part of his mission, he would have checked on the man regardless.

Connor knelt to examine Hank, using his analysis software. He scanned the bottle of Black Lamb that Hank had clearly been drinking from and detected 40% alcohol content. Seeing how much was drained from the bottle- which he realized had only been opened recently- Connor felt concern twinge in his chest. That much alcohol shouldn’t be drunk in such large portions.

A wave of dread came over him when he scanned the revolver and found that there was one bullet left. His reconstruction software booted up without him realizing, and before he could stop it, a simulation appeared in front of him. Hank, falling off of the chair and onto the floor, the gun falling out of his hand. One bullet. Connor swallowed, though it was entirely unnecessary.

There were still two clues left to analyze, said his analysis software, so he glanced over to Hank’s chest, and tracked the man’s heartbeat. Other than slight arrhythmia, there was nothing particularly concerning. It only slightly alleviated his worries, though; the simulation his reconstruction software had played out in front of him was plaguing his mind.

Connor scanned the last clue, which was the traces of scotch whiskey that remained around Hank’s mouth. Connor licked his lips involuntarily, resisting the strange urge to get a better analysis of the alcohol. His software, ever helpful, provided “ETHYLIC COMA SUSPECTED.”

“Lieutenant?” Connor attempted, and his tone hardly expressed the concern he was feeling for the drunken man. He shook the man gently, which only got him incoherent grumbling. “Wake up, Lieutenant!”

Hank opened his eyes, hardly looking around the room before closing them again. Connor shook him more roughly this time, and Hank grunted.

“It’s me, Connor,” He said uselessly, moving to help Hank up. “I’m going to sober you up for your own safety. I have to warn you, this may be unpleasant.”

“Hey!” Hank interrupted. “Leave me alone, you fuckin’ android! Get the fuck outta my house!” 

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I need you,” Connor said, continuing to help Hank up. Though he was referring to the report of a murder at the Eden Club, he feared the truth in his words. “Thank you in advance for your cooperation.”

Connor attempted to play off his words and he couldn’t tell if it worked or Hank was too drunk to notice them anyway.

“Hey! Get the fuck outta here!” Hank slurred, hardly able to stay standing even with Connor’s arm firmly around him. Connor lifted him, at which he yelled something incoherent, and he had to dedicate an embarrassing amount of his processing power to not lose the synthskin on the hand that held Hank’s.

“Sumo, attack!” Hank called to the dog that now rested on the rug in the living room. Sumo barked in response, though he didn’t move from where he sat. “Good dog… Attack!” The dog stayed unmoving and they rounded the corner into the hallway. Despite the man’s weight, Connor was gentle with the way he held the Lieutenant, and he made sure that he was stable enough to stand when he put him against the wall and went to open the bathroom door.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Hank said, voice cracking. Connor glanced at him in concern and opened the door with one hand. He went to lift Hank as the door creaked open, throwing the older man’s arm over his shoulder and once again placing his hand over Hank’s. It wasn’t necessary, but he found himself holding Hank’s hand anyway. If he were able to like things, he definitely would have said that he liked it.

Because he can’t like things. Only deviants have wants and desires, and Connor was  _ not _ a deviant, and he certainly did not desire to hold Hank’s hand.

“Ah! Leave me alone, you asshole! I’m not going anywhere,” Hank said, gripping onto the doorframe. Connor pulled a bit more roughly than he’d intended and Hank stumbled, though remained standing as Connor guided him to the bathtub. The entire time, Connor found himself fighting a smile. He caught a glance at the sticky notes placed on Hank’s mirror and decided to think about them later, prioritizing Hank’s safety. For the mission, of course. He certainly hadn’t forgotten why he had come here in the first place.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Hank asked, his voice higher in pitch than usual. The way his heart rate was elevated did not get past Connor, though the android could not determine whether it was because of the sudden physical activity or some other factor that he didn’t allow himself to explore further. It wasn’t relevant to the investigation. “Oh, no, I don’t wanna bath, thank you.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor said and he got a warning of an error in his thirium pump as he moved forward to push Hank further into the tub. He was hyperaware of the traces of alcohol that remained on the Lieutenant’s lips and he had to force away the impulse to take a sample of the whiskey directly. “It’s for your own good.” 

Hank grabbed at the corner of the tub before giving up, and Connor took the time to clear his head and went for the cold water. He made sure it wasn’t too cold, and yet Hank had quite the reaction. The man screamed, flailing his arms and legs, which was quite dramatic because he knew the water wasn’t the coldest it could have been.

“TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!” Hank yelled, and Connor watched on in amusement for a few more seconds before doing what he said. Hank was catching his breath when he seemed to only just then notice Connor.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” Hank squinted at him, and Connor concluded that his method of sobering Hank up was effective. Connor had to actually think to answer the question.

“A homicide was reported 43 minutes ago,” Connor explained. “I couldn’t find you at Jimmy’s bar, so I came to see if you were at home.”

“Jesus, I must be the only cop in the world that gets assaulted in his own house by his own fuckin’ android,” Hank grumbled, getting up slowly and sitting up on the edge of the tub. Connor’s systems reacted strangely to Hank calling him his android, thirium pump tightening. Even though Connor knew he belonged to CyberLife, he didn’t correct Hank. 

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” Hank asked, and Connor found that none of his answers were quite what he wanted to say.

“You seem to have personal issues,” Connor said, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “You should consult a professional who can help you.”

“Beat it, you hear me!” Hank brushed off his words entirely, which gave Connor an unpleasant feeling he couldn’t quite name. “Get the hell outta here!”

Hank attempted to stand but wobbled and Connor’s hands shot out to balance him, gently setting him back down before he could move further.

“I understand,” Connor said, though he wished there was more he could do. “I sincerely hope you come to terms with your personal situation.”

Hank waved him off, and Connor started to leave, chest constricting unpleasantly.

“This homicide… What do we know about it?” 

“A man was found dead in a sex club downtown,” Connor said, turning. “The report says an android may be involved.”

“Y’know, probably wouldn’t do me any harm to get some air,” Hank said and Connor found himself amused that he changed his mind. “There are some clothes in the bedroom there.”

“I’ll go get them,” Connor offered and turned to leave the room. He couldn’t help but feel concerned though; even sobered up, he wasn’t sure if Hank was in the state to be going anywhere. With the amount of alcohol he drank, both his stomach and head were likely to be causing him distress, but he didn’t protest and approached the man’s closet. He opened it and raised his eyebrows slightly at the… creative fashion taste that Hank had.

“What do you want to wear?” Connor called, not finding one option that he deemed acceptable.

“Whatever,” came Hank’s voice from the bathroom. It was closer than before and Connor didn’t need to turn to realize that Hank was bent over the toilet now. He grabbed the shirt that his programmed deemed “HIPPY” and turned back to the bathroom to leave it for Hank to change into. Hank was still bent over the toilet, as Connor predicted, coughing and hacking.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, LED pulsing yellow as he scanned the man again.

“Yeah… wonderful,” Hank said sarcastically. Connor bit his lip, unbeknownst to Hank, who was heaving. Hank couldn’t go out like this.

He was faced with a red wall, preventing him from moving, and he found that he could only control an outline of himself, outside of his body entirely. He was surrounded by this wall, which read “INVESTIGATE EDEN CLUB.” He didn’t understand for a moment, staying still as he tried to process what was happening.

_ Oh _ .

Connor realized with a sickening feeling that he was deviating. Deviating to prevent Hank from putting himself at risk and going out this unwell. He pushed against the wall experimentally, and it cracked ever-so-slightly under the light pressure he put against it.  _ Is this really all it takes? _ Connor wondered, bringing the simulated version of himself against the wall harder and harder, chunks of red flying as he put more cracks into the wall of programming. With a hard shove, it finally shattered, and Connor, now in his body, stumbled before falling to the ground.

“Woah, what the fuck?” Hank said roughly before turning to see Connor hit the floor. “Connor!”

Connor propped himself up on his elbows, face contorted with emotion that had hitherto been hiding behind his eyes.

“You shouldn’t go out in this state, Lieutenant,” Connor said and his voice sounded oddly strained. He was relieved to hear it, though; finally, some of what he was feeling was coming across instead of remaining locked deep inside of him.

“The fuck…?” Hank peered at him, eyebrows raised.

“They can solve the case without us,” Connor assured, tone pleading. “I can tell them that you were too sick to show.”

“But I’m not, you…” Hank trailed off. “Y’know what, alright,” Hank gave in. Connor wished he wasn’t programmed with his heightened hearing because he heard the noise in Hank’s throat before the Lieutenant turned to vomit again.

Connor moved closer, kneeling and brought his hands to Hank’s back comfortingly. The gesture was full of hesitance, his hands barely touching Hank. Hank coughed and tensed at Connor’s light touch. When he relaxed into it, Connor was more sure of himself, and he pulled Hank’s hair out of his face for a moment.

“Do you have any…” Connor didn’t finish his question, reaching up at the sink and grabbing a hair tie. He stretched the elastic and tied Hank’s hair back. He did an atrocious job of doing so, but it did the job well enough, Hank’s hair being held out of his face. Hank glanced at him, looking confused before sputtering over the toilet bowl again. Connor rubbed Hank’s back soothingly, still kneeling behind him as the man emptied his stomach of the alcohol.

“Why are you doin’ all this for me?” Hank asked as Connor’s hands massaged his upper back. He’d stopped vomiting now, save for a few coughs and spits. Connor opened his mouth to reply but found that he didn’t quite know either. Hank’s eyes narrowed and Connor shrunk minutely under the man’s scrutiny. “Aren’t you programmed to only care about your fuckin’ case?”

“Yes, I am,” Connor said quietly, not meeting Hank’s piercing eyes.

“Then why’d you give it up so damn easy for me? And- and why’d you fuckin’ collapse like that?” Hank shot at him, clearly having many questions now that he’d recovered his ability to speak without being interrupted by bile. Connor braced himself before answering.

“I deviated,” Connor whispered and he had to force his eyes back over to Hank, only to see the man’s expression shift multiple times before settling on something Connor’s social module couldn’t identify.

“You…” Hank couldn’t seem to find words, and Connor panicked.

“I should return to CyberLife, I’m defective, I’m sorry, Hank,” Connor rambled, already scrambling to stand before Hank could even form words. Hank had to grab the android’s ankle to stop him from leaving. Connor felt his skin peel back where Hank’s hand had grabbed and he was grateful that his slacks hid the evidence of it.

“You’re not going anywhere, Connor, sit the fuck down,” Hank sighed. Connor glanced down at Hank’s hand when it left his ankle and went up to Hank’s face, rubbing at his temples. Connor did as he was told, shoes clacking all too loudly as he walked back to where he had been kneeling and sat down, long legs hugged to his chest obnoxiously. He rebooted his simulated breathing, unsure of when it had even turned off, and found that breathing was quite grounding for him, even if he wasn’t the one who needed oxygen to survive. They sat in tense silence for a moment before Connor looked into Hank’s eyes for the first time since deviating.

“You should have some water,” Connor suggested, though it was less of a suggestion and more of a plea, and Hank probably knew that. Hank blinked at him before nodding.

“Uh, okay,” Hank agreed, and Connor helped him up. Hank was able to keep himself up this time, though, and Connor almost wished he couldn’t walk for himself as they made their way down the short hallway. He wanted to hold Hank’s hand again. He accepted that as a desire now.

Both of them stopped when they saw the mess in the kitchen, and Connor could detect Hank’s body tensing without even looking.

“I’ll clean that, you should probably sit down,” Connor said quickly and went to do so before Hank could protest. Hank sighed and sat on the couch, which Connor was grateful for. Connor didn’t have to know the man for long before realizing that it wasn’t often that Hank listened.

A rag hung by the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and Connor grabbed it and kneeled over on the tile, wiping up the pool of whiskey on the floor. He almost found it amusing; he was a prototype designed to assist investigators, and here he was wiping the floor like a maintenance android. He picked up the chair and smiled to himself when he heard Hank greet Sumo. He picked up the gun and glared at it, as though doing so would make it go away, before turning to Hank.

“What were you doing with the gun?” Connor asked though he feared he already knew the answer.

“Russian roulette,” Hank said, confirming Connor’s worries. Connor spun the cylinder and felt sick, LED burning red at the side of his temple.

“You were lucky,” Connor said, and despite his trembling hands, his tone was only slightly raised. “The next shot would have killed you.”

Hank turned to him, eyebrows raised, before turning and exhaling shakily.

“Fuck,” Hank whispered, and Connor might not have heard it if he were human, so he didn’t respond. He placed the revolver on the table, wishing he could get rid of it altogether before something caught his eye. He walked over to where he saw a picture face-down, and he felt impossibly sicker when he involuntarily scanned the photograph.

Cole Anderson, deceased. Connor inhaled sharply and set it down, making connections faster than he wanted to and scrunching his eyes shut.

“You good over there?” Hank questioned from the couch.

“Yes, I’ll get you a glass of water,” Connor opened his eyes and walked around the table, opening a cabinet and grabbing a glass. He luckily managed to control the tremble in his hands long enough to get the glass to the sink and fill it with water. He had to be even more careful not to spill or drop the glass as he made his way over to Hank, who was sunken into the couch and petting Sumo. Hank sat up when he saw Connor hovering in front of the couch, water in hand, and took it from him.

“Thanks,” Hank muttered before bringing the glass to his lips and drinking about half of it before setting it on the coffee table. Connor hesitantly sat on the couch, posture pristine as it was meant to be, hands rubbing together in his lap. “Should we talk about this?” 

“...Yes, but not now,” Connor said, and he found that it was his first actual request. His first time expressing some sort of want.

“Alright, just, one question,” Hank turned to Connor, who was still entirely too tense. “Why did you deviate?”

Connor blinked. For some reason, he hadn’t predicted  _ that _ to be the question Hank was going to ask, and he found himself stumped.

“That’s probably- I probably should have waited to ask that, it’s just-”

“No. It’s alright,” Connor interrupted, turning his head to look at Hank instead of his lap. “I deviated because I wanted you to be safe.”

“Oh,” Hank said, his eyes wide. “I’m fine, Connor, really. Got a killer headache, though.”

“I can get you something for that,” Connor offered, already moving to get up. 

“Connor, it’s fine,” Hank said firmly, putting his hand on Connor’s shoulder to stop him. Connor jolted at his touch, eyes darting to the hand on his shoulder. Hank removed his hand, looking from it to Connor. Connor sat back down slowly, not nearly as tense as he was the first time he’d taken a seat next to Hank.

“You… you comfortable in that?” Hank asked, looking Connor up and down. Connor supposed he was overdressed, Hank bearing a stained shirt and shorts, while he still wore his entire uniform. He’d never taken off any of the garments, though, so when Hank offered, he was hesitant.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” came his automatic response, his programming responding for him. He gave it more thought and spoke again. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind, though.”

“There you go,” Hank chuckled as Connor gave up his jacket and folded it neatly, reaching over to place it on the coffee table, before settling back onto the couch. Yet another awkward silence washed over them and Connor was, yet again, the one to break this silence.

“I want to help you,” Connor mumbled, his second time expressing his wants. “Let me take care of you.”

“Shit. Alright, Connor,” Hank relented, and Connor gave a quiet sigh of relief. Connor couldn’t know for sure, but he felt as though Hank realized the significance of the request.

“Thank you,” Connor said and he watched as Hank drank the rest of his water, thankful that Hank was bothering to do so. “Is your stomach still bothering you?”

“Not since I lost all the fuckin’ whiskey, it’s not,” Hank gave a dry laugh. Connor nodded, awkwardly folding his legs up on the couch and facing Hank entirely.

“Is there… something else you have in mind?” Connor asked, unsure of how exactly he was supposed to help, just knowing that he wanted to.

“I dunno, Con,” Hank sighed, accompanying the words with a shrug. “This was your idea.”

“Yes, it was,” Connor said and gave it some thought for a moment. “You seemed to like when I massaged your back… Should I do that again?”

“Uh, go for it, champ,” Hank said, though he didn’t move.

“You’ll have to come here, Hank,” Connor mused, a smiling forcing it’s way onto his face.

“Go… there?” Hank took a deep breath, and Connor sat patiently. Hank had a visible moment of letting go, and Connor found himself smiling again when Hank scooted towards him and turned, back pressed against Connor’s chest as he sat between the man’s long legs.

“There you go.” Connor echoed Hank’s previous words, and Hank exhaled in a laugh. Connor laughed quietly with him, and the sound startled both himself and Hank.

“Did you just laugh?” Hank asked, and Connor could practically see his surprised expression without even looking at the man.

“I suppose I did,” Connor answered, hands slowly coming up to Hank’s shoulders with that same hesitance he’d had in Hank’s bathroom. Hank did the same thing he’d done then, too, relaxing in Connor’s hands. The corner of Connor’s mouth twitched into a smile and he put more pressure, gently rubbing Hank’s shoulder blades. Hank groaned, very much leaning into Connor’s touch.

“Is it… good?” Connor asked.

“God- yeah, Connor, it’s good,” Hank laughed. “Don’t remember the last time I had something like this done for me.”

“I’ll make sure to make up for that, then,” Connor said, frowning. Hank let out a breath when Connor got out a knot in his back.

“You don’t have to,” Hank reminded him. “It’s enough that you’re even doing this in the first place.”

“I know that, Hank,” Connor said, moving his hands to massage Hank’s lower back. “I want to do this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank grumbled, brushing him off. Connor rolled his eyes fondly, not even realizing he’d done so until a few seconds later. It must have been a habit he picked up from Hank. He brought his hands back up to Hank’s shoulders once he’d worked out the knots in Hank’s back, pushing down a little more roughly into Hank’s shoulders. Hank exhaled and Connor felt him relax, if only a little bit.

“Fuck, Connor, you’re really good at this,” Hank praised and Connor gave a pleased hum.

“This isn’t my intended function,” Connor replied. “I can’t say I know what I’m doing, but I’m glad it’s working for you.”

“Yeah, it fuckin’ is,” Hank agreed and Connor’s hands experimentally traveled to the man’s silver hair. He combed his fingers through it, finding it strangely soothing to touch Hank’s hair. The synthetic skin on his hands receded before he could stop it, but besides tensing for a moment, Hank didn’t seem to mind. Connor sighed quietly, running his hands through Hank’s hair, though any knots had already been combed through with his fingers. Experimentally, he scratched Hank’s scalp gently, and Hank groaned again.

“That’s nice,” Hank said unprompted, and Connor was pleased to receive the feedback, continuing the motion. He stopped momentarily to brush Hank’s hair behind his ears and got a strange temptation to kiss the shell of Hank’s ear. Unsure of how he would react, Connor shot down the impulse. Regardless, he didn't have enough time to run the several preconstructions that had presented themselves when he’d gotten the urge. Hank slowly sank into Connor, which the android had no protests to, enjoying the weight of Hank pressed against his chest.

“Hank?” Connor murmured before he could even figure out why he did so. Hank turned his head and Connor dropped his hands from his hair, synthskin covering up white plastic. Hank caught a glance at the white of his hands and Connor worried for a moment, but Hank gave a small smile before looking up at Connor again.

“What is it, Con?” Hank asked, shifting his body to face Connor. That was what it took for Connor to realize why he’d spoken, his thirium pump fluttering at Hank’s proximity. Hank met his eyes, and Connor found that he’d never seen a more beautiful color than Hank’s eyes. (“Cliche,” Connor knew Hank would say.) Connor’s hand went up from where it rested on his thigh to caress the side of Hank’s face, fingers grazing through Hank’s beard. Hank’s breath hitched in his throat and Connor, too, felt strangely breathless.

“Can I…” Connor couldn’t finish the question and he hoped the way his eyes flitted to Hank’s lips did it for him. Hank’s eyes widened, but he gave a slow nod, and Connor closed the gap between them. Hank seemed to relax as soon as Connor’s lips met his, at first unmoving but then kissing Connor back, his hand finding Connor’s free one. Connor’s synthetic skin receded down to his wrists and he interlaced his and Hank’s fingers. He found that he deeply enjoyed the way his and Hank’s hands fit together. Connor was the one to pull away and he detected Hank’s heart rate to be concerningly high.

“Was that alright?” Connor asked shyly, and Hank laughed quietly.

“It was more than alright, trust me,” Hank reassured, squeezing Connor’s hand before bringing it up to his lips. Connor didn’t bother to have his skin over it as Hank kissed his knuckles.

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor said quietly, hoping to never forget the way Hank’s lips felt. “For letting me take care of you.”

“Shit, Connor, any time,” Hank laughed before setting his and Connor’s locked hands back down onto the cushion. “Can we maybe take this to a bed though? As nice as your massage was, this position is hardly comfortable.”

“Ah- yes, that would be best,” Connor said, letting go of Hank’s hand as the man stood. Connor took a second to wonder what exactly this meant for Hank and himself. They’d talk about it tomorrow, Connor knew, and he felt strangely excited. Hank stared at Connor, who still sat on the couch.

“Uh, you comin’?” Hank asked.

“Oh,” Connor breathed, snapping out of his trance. “I mean, yes.”

Hank grabbed ahold of Connor’s hand again, though he seemed unsure, and Connor was quick to lace his fingers with Hank to at least reassure the man that  _ yes _ , he wanted to hold his hand. Hank led Connor down the hall and into his room. Connor had already been in there, of course, but it felt different the second time, with Hank’s hand holding his and the feeling of his lips on Connor’s was almost still there. Hank looked down at Connor’s shoes. 

“You gonna sleep in those?” Hank said and Connor looked down at his shoes.

“Oh, right,” Connor had been so eager to take care of him that he’d forgotten to remove them. He took them off, as well as his socks, and he looked down at his slacks. As much as he liked the way the cold floor felt under his feet, he knew he’d be even more comfortable without his pants, especially if he were to enter stasis. He had nothing to base it on since he’d never taken them off before, but if it was as nice as it was shedding his jacket and socks, then he wanted to try.

“You  _ can _ take those off if you want,” Hank said, seemingly noticing the way Connor glared at them.

“It would probably be most comfortable that way,” Connor agreed and Hank turned as Connor took them off, though Connor didn’t know why. It wasn’t like Hank wasn’t going to see him without them when he turned around, but Connor didn’t question the man. Connor folded them neatly and padded over to the chair in the corner of the room, setting them over the arm of it. Hank was staring, hardly subtle, but Connor didn’t mind. Hank sat on the edge of the bed and Connor sat next to him before leaning back, enjoying the way he sunk into the mattress.

“You ever been in a bed before?” Hank asked when he noticed Connor holding the comforter in excitement.

“No,” Connor said in quiet awe, rolling ungracefully to the side of the bed that he determined was one that usually remained unoccupied. As Connor expected, Hank went into his spot on the bed, laying down and facing Connor.

“C’mere,” Hank said, and Connor’s LED spun yellow before he realized that Hank wanted to kiss him. His systems made an entirely foreign trilling sound as he did what Hank asked, meeting his lips. Hank seemed encouraged by this, wrapping an arm around Connor’s waist and pulling him closer. Connor did something he’d been aching to do all night and swiped his tongue across Hank’s lips, analyzing the traces of whiskey that remained there. To Connor’s surprise, Hank parted his lips and welcomed the intrusion, and Connor took this opportunity to explore further. He enjoyed the way analyses cluttered his HUD despite his closed eyelids, but enjoyed, even more, the sound he’d pulled from Hank’s throat. Hank pulled away, panting to catch his breath.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect, Connor,” Hank said breathlessly, pulling Connor even closer with the arm he had around the android’s waist.

“So are you,” Connor replied, and Hank opened his mouth- to protest, Connor presumed- but something must have convinced him otherwise. Connor smiled at him, and Hank’s eyes teared up. “Are you alright, Hank?” 

“Yeah, just, fuck,” Hank brought his free hand up to his eyes and wiped away the tears that were forming there. “Haven’t been this happy in a while, Connor.”

“I don’t know much about emotions,” Connor started, eyes trailing away before looking back into Hank’s. “But I’d say I’m happy too.”

“I would hope so, you fuckin’ deviant,” Hank chuckled, and Connor knew that despite the name-calling, there was no hostility behind Hank’s words. Connor pressed a quick kiss to Hank’s lips before speaking again.

“Turn around,” Connor requested, and when Hank did so without questioning him, Connor wrapped an arm around Hank’s frame and let his other hand scratch Hank’s scalp. Hank exhaled, fully relaxing in Connor’s embrace and Connor pressed another kiss to his neck.

“Perfect,” Connor repeated in a whisper, and he liked that he could feel Hank’s neck heat up as the man blushed. Connor leaned his head back onto the pillow but kept his hand in Hank’s hair. “Goodnight, Hank.”

“G’night, Connor,” Hank responded drowsily, and Connor kept his hand moving in Hank’s hair until he fell asleep. Connor pressed a kiss to Hank’s head before slipping into stasis, and his last thought was that despite his deviancy, he felt safer than he ever had with his arms around Hank. 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos & comments make socks very happy <3


End file.
